All Dressed Up

by Lucy Hepburn

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hours until wedding: 23

  Kilometers to wedding: 232

  “I’m sorry,” her mother said quietly, sitting forward in the car and covering her hand with her mouth “I’m going to be sick.”

  “Mum? Oh no! Pascal, stop the car!”

  “Hang on, mum! Don’t be sick on the dress!” Instinctively, Molly bundled the dress carrier as far away from her mother as she could, trying not to think about the creasing she might be causing. At least, she reasoned, a little creasing could be fixed—but for her mother to be sick on it? That was unthinkable.

  Pascal was already indicating, making for a motorists’ rest area, which mercifully lay just ahead of them. He roared into the rest area and slammed on the brakes before leaping out and yanking his car seat forward so that her mother could escape.

  Simon was jolted awake. “Wassup? Oh!”

  He took in the situation immediately, clambering from the car and stumbling over to stand next to her mother, his hand on her shoulder.

  “You okay? Breathe deeply now, that’s it, you’re okay.”

  Her mother was shivering. Quickly, Simon ran back to the car, pulled out his atrocious knitted sweater, hurried back, and draped it gently round her shoulders.

  “That’s it, you’re okay, you’ll be fine…”

  Pascal was standing alongside Molly, beside the car. “He is a good man,” he murmured, nodding toward Simon.

  “Yeah,” Molly agreed absently. She checked the dress carrier for any signs of vomit. The layby was tiny, covered in broken glass. The traffic thundered by, making Molly’s bones rattle as she looked. She could practically see the little car swaying against the force of some of the bigger lorries. But by the looks of it the dress was okay, and for now that was the main thing.

  “Got any medication I can get for you?” Simon was saying.

  “No…no, just give me a moment, I’ll be okay, thank you so much.”

  “She never usually gets car sick,” Molly called over. “She doesn’t carry anything like that on her.”

  Simon looked across at Molly. “Right,” he said.

  “Right. We must press on,” her mother said firmly, standing up and beginning to walk back to the car. “I don’t want to hold things up.”

  Simon took her arm to steady her.

  “How do you feel now, mum?” Molly asked.

  “Much better. How embarrassing, I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be daft,” Molly said, wondering if the stress was contributing to the nausea. “Could happen to any of us.”

  “Here, you sit in the front,” Simon said.

  “No, I’ll be fine. Your long legs—”

  “I insist,” he added firmly. “Go on.” And Simon folded his body practically in half in order to clamber into the tiny back seat.

  “Thank you.”

  Molly climbed in the other side, and after she and Simon had rearranged the wedding dress across their laps, she found that their thighs were practically welded together. She felt suddenly awkward. As politely as she could, she shifted her body so that she was pressed as close as she could to the side of the car.

  “I will endeavor to avoid the bumps in the road,” Pascal said to Molly’s mum as he moved off.

  Molly’s mother closed her eyes and, behind her sunglasses, appeared to fall fast asleep.

  They traveled on in silence for a while. Out of the corner of her eyes, Molly looked across at Simon. He was undoubtedly very handsome. And kind and caring. He could have done anything he wanted with his life…

  “Why film?” She asked.

  He shrugged. “Why not?”

  “Isn’t it a bit…show-offy?”

  His mouth dropped open. “Ouch! Have you been thinking that one up ever since I dissed the fashion business?”

  “No! Not at all!” She grimaced. “That did sound a bit rude, didn’t it? I’m sorry…”

  “Nah, forget it, it’s a fair enough question.” He laughed. “Blunt, but fair. Let me see…I’ve always been fascinated by the medium. You can tell a much bigger story in three dimensions.”

  “As opposed to what? Writing?”

  He frowned. “I guess. The media. Any media. I want to tell the truth, and film’s the thing I’m best at. Or maybe least worst at. Does that make sense?”

  Molly nodded.

  “I love everything about the process—always have. Love the movies, love TV, love exploring ideas and getting to the heart of things—I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.”

  “I love movies too,” Molly sighed.

  “So when I acknowledged all that, I set about getting the proper training in the entire field: writing, researching, information-gathering, filming, editing…”

  “Whoa, you sound like a one-man production company!” Molly liked seeing the enthusiasm on his face—he really lit up.

  “Exactly! You’re spot on!”

  “Really?” Molly hadn’t been aware she’d said anything clever.

  “That’s exactly it—I wanted complete authority over how a story comes across, so that I can be sure the picture presented is one hundred per cent the one I want portrayed.”

  She gave him a sly look. “I’m afraid, Simon, you’re sounding a little like a control freak.”

  Molly caught Pascal’s eye in the rear-view mirror and saw him smile.

  “Yes, maybe, or could it also be that this is the only way I can tell the truth as I see it.”

  “And what if you get it wrong?”

  For the first time, she saw him waver. The passionate glint in his eye gave way to a flicker of self-doubt.

  “That is a most excellent question, and one which I am not often asked.”

  Molly was amazed by this. “Really? You’re not that scary.”

  She was joking, but he took her seriously. “I hope not! But there is a sort of lore that goes with what I do—people kind of assume that what we put together comes from months or even years of great research by people with giant brains, when sometimes it’s just a guy with a camera, a big idea—or even a small idea, as you said before—and a big mouth. I take that responsibility very seriously. To be as truthful as I can—not only to people who watch my stuff, but also to myself.”

  She wondered what kind of movies he made: action-packed blockbusters, sci-fi, romance? He sounded like an artist. “Being true to yourself is the most important thing in life.” Molly was keen to show him that she understood.

  He looked embarrassed all of a sudden. “Wow, listen to me, the big-shot with the big speeches! Sorry, that must sound like pretentious guff.”

  “Not at all. I like how it sounded. I’d love to see your films some time.”

  She caught his eye and an electric bolt of emotion seemed to flash between them, so much so that Molly dropped her gaze and began fiddling furiously with the zipper of the dress carrier. Simon, too, suddenly seemed to find the scenery outside to be completely fascinating.

  Reggie never talked like that. Sure, he was passionate about what he did, but for him it was all about capturing that big, show-stopping shot, and the glory that would bring. He used to talk about industry award ceremonies, how he’d one day sweep the boards, how everybody would know his name and beg him to cover their shoots.

  Molly turned to Simon. “That was nice of you, giving mum your sweater,” Molly said.

  “She was shivering,” he replied simply. “I was worried about her.”

  “It has its uses after all.”

  “I’m quite attached to it, actually.”

  A thought occurred to her. “Was that a present from Yvonne?”

  He looked at her. “Yes. It was. She knitted it for me.”

  “A woman of many talents.” She sighed, feeling inexplicably sad. “You really love her, don’t you?”

  He nodded.

  Molly stared out of the window. Well, that was that. Simon was well and truly sp
oken for.

  The world rolled by, and nobody spoke for some time. Molly hadn’t realized Italy could be so green. Amazing to think they’d been skidoo-ing through thick snow only hours ago; outside the rolling countryside now looked lush and benign. Molly’s eyes grew heavier and heavier. She’d just close them… just for a moment.

  She didn’t want to wake up. She was far too comfortable. She was snuggled down in a warm safe place and if she woke up she’d be back in reality and reality didn’t seem all that much fun any more. Just a few more minutes…

  “Molly?” It was Simon’s soft voice. “Wake up, we’ve stopped.”

  Grudgingly, she opened her eyes. Silence. The car had indeed stopped.

  It took all of five seconds for her to realize that she was snuggled up to Simon, her head resting on his chest, and her arm draped right across his body.

  “Oh!” She sprang upright as though stung by a wasp. “I’m sorry!”

  “No worries,” he said. “Glad you got some rest.”

  Swiftly she straightened herself up and got ready to climb out of the car and face Caitlin. The dress was still on her lap, and they were here. All crises were officially over.

  But when she looked outside, they weren’t outside a house.

  “Where are we?” This wasn’t where Caitlin lived.

  They had parked outside an ancient stone building, some sort of town hall or something. She must have been very soundly asleep. Weirdly, given the circumstances, she wondered if she’d been snoring—Reggie had never said that she snored, but today would not have been a good day to start.

  “Is this the wedding venue?” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

  Simon looked as confused as she felt. “Don’t think so. Pascal?”

  Pascal ignored him.

  “Pascal, are you okay?” Molly asked.

  “Yes,” he replied, crisply. “Tres bien merci.”

  “This doesn’t feel right, mate,” Simon said gently. “You need to get back on the motorway. Or do you need a comfort break?”

  “Non merci.”

  Molly and Simon exchanged anxious looks.

  “Pascal, are you all right?” she asked again. “You’ve gone a strange color.”

  Molly’s mother stirred and woke. “Are we there?” she asked sleepily then looked around to see they were most definitely not there.

  “Want me to take another turn behind the wheel?” Simon asked.

  For a few moments it looked as though Pascal was going to ignore them. But then he said, “I have a confession to make,” staring straight ahead.

  Molly had a bad feeling about this. “Ye…es?” she faltered. What on earth was coming?

  “But when you were talking to Caitlin about the dress…” Pascal looked pale as his words tailed away.

  “Spit it out!” Molly cried. “Please!”

  “It…it was when we were at Julien’s family’s house…the dress…”

  “Yes, yes,” Molly interrupted, “it was a bad moment, but there’s not a mark on it! There was no chocolate cake on it. We got away with it. Don’t tell me you’re still traumatized by that? You should have said something. I could have driven for a while, till you got your head together!”

  “It’s not that.”

  There was a moment of silence. It was horrible.

  “Then what is is, for heaven’s sake?!”

  Pascal sighed deeply. “It is the wrong dress.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Hours until wedding: 22

  Kilometers to wedding: 179

  “Shoot me. Shoot me now.” Molly wondered if she might actually pass out.

  “The what?” her mum said blearily. “How can it be the wrong dress?”

  “It just is,” Pascal mumbled.

  “Whoa, mate, that’s quite a thing to say,” Simon said.

  Pascal mopped his brow again. “I…I…”

  But Molly interrupted. “Pascal? Are you sure?”

  He nodded miserably. “That dress is not Caitlin’s. It is a sample from our stock.”

  Molly clutched the back of Pascal’s car seat, her knuckles white with panic and rising fury. She appeared to have been robbed of the power of speech. No matter how hard she tried to explode into a tirade of fury, no words came. Her mouth opened and closed uselessly until her mother turned round and looked at her anxiously.

  “Molly? It’s not like you to be so quiet.”

  “Why on earth didn’t you say?” she cried, finding her voice at last. “Look at us! Stuck outside some weird old building with the wrong dress?” “Breathe, darling, it helps.” Her mother reached back and laid a hand on Molly’s heaving shoulders. “Let Pascal explain.”

  She turned to him and spoke in a far more level tone than Molly could have mustered. “Why didn’t you say something before now?”

  He shrugged miserably. “I did not know until I saw Gabriella wearing it.”

  “Gabriella?” Vanessa Wright looked thoroughly confused.

  “Julien’s granddaughter… oh never mind.” Molly started to say but realized there was no time.

  “That was hours ago, mate,” Simon pointed out.

  “Exactly!” Molly wailed. “We could…fly back to Paris and get the right one, but it’s probably too late now…”

  “Poor Caitlin,” her mother sighed. “She’s in such a state already.”

  “Don’t remind me. You better just turn the car around and drive in the opposite direction as far and as fast as you can, Pascal, because there’s no point in any of us showing up anywhere near Venice. Ever again.”

  “Ahem, some of us would quite like to get there, please.” Simon had leaned his head against the side window as though glumly accepting that it was likely to be some time before this one sorted itself out.

  “Yeah, whatever,” Molly glared at him. “Well, I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait until we sort this one out. We’re all in this mess together, aren’t we, Pascal?”

  Simon looked about ready to say that this one wasn’t his fault, but another glare from Molly told him not to. Even though she knew it wasn’t.

  “I think I have solved the problem,” Pascal said, “if you would only allow me a moment to explain?”

  Molly folded her arms crossly. “You going to sew another one in time?”

  “The correct dress is on its way,” Pascal said.

  “How?” Molly stormed. “Pigeon? Hot air balloon?”

  “Molly!”

  “Sorry mum.”

  “It is on a flight from Paris right now, and it will be picked up by a motorcycle courier and brought to us. When I saw Gabriella in the dress, after I recovered from the shock, I had to step outside and make some calls.

  “To Delametri?”

  He shook his head as though the thought was preposterous, which infuriated Molly.

  “To Annabelle, of course. I explained the problem, and she got to work and after some time, managed to find Caitlin’s gown.”

  “Where was it?” Molly asked.

  “Oh, it was in Delametri’s apartment all along but not in the place where he had told me to look.”

  “That’s why you’ve been such a pain for the last few hours,” Molly breathed. “It all makes sense!”

  “Molly!”

  “Sorry mum. But, honestly, Pascal, you should have opened the dress carrier to check! I mean, if there was any doubt, if Delametri’s apartment happens to be stuffed with assorted wedding dresses…”

  Pascal nodded and raised his palms in a gesture of surrender. “You are quite correct; I should have done that, and now I cannot believe that I did not. But the fact is, it is most unusual for Delametri to keep gowns in his apartment, and the dress carrier, when I went there, was exactly where he said it would be. It was definitely the only one in the room, and it had Caitlin’s name pinned to it.”

  Why would the wrong dress have Caitlin’s name on it? There had to be a reason for this m
ess.

  “What other checks should I have done?” Pascal added.

  “I see,” Molly’s mum said with a gentle smile. “How unfortunate. But these things can happen, can’t they? I’m sure most of us would have done exactly the same.”

  Molly opened her mouth to petulantly contradict but then caught her mother’s warning look, thought better of it, and kept it shut.

  “So, is this dress going to make it to Venice before we do then?” Simon asked.

  Molly held her breath.

  “No.”

  “O-kay, so where then?” Molly asked.

  “Here.” Pascal took a deep breath. “In Bologna.”

  “We’re in Bologna?” Molly echoed. “What?… Why?… And where exactly are we in Bologna?”

  Pascal looked sheepish. “That is just…the way it worked…”

  Molly didn’t believe him. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “You’ve been going on and on about Bologna—are you sure you haven’t known about this all along?”

  “No!” Pascal turned around and looked pleadingly at her. “I promise you, I have not. But when I got hold of the courier and checked the map, I realized that Bologna is on our route anyhow—it will only be an extra thirty minutes…or so.”

  This was one more thirty minutes on top of thousands of other minutes they had wasted.

  “And…” Pascal added.

  “Yes?” Molly waited.

  “And there is something I would very much like to do while we’re here. It will not take long, and the timing seems to be working out perfectly.”

  “I told Caitlin we’d be with her in three and a half hours,” Molly reminded him.

  “It will not be much more than that.”

  They all got out of the car. It seemed to cause her mother some difficulty, but with a little help from Simon, she made it and they all faced Pascal.

  He spread his arms. “My friends,” he said, “I am afraid I have taken advantage of an unfortunate situation to turn a negative into a positive—a double positive, in fact!”

  “You’re going to have to help us out here,” Molly said blearily, squinting up at the ancient building. “What is this place?”